Sheltered Soul
by Darkening Light
Summary: CHAPTER 3 - Damas couldn't even consider rest. This information Exer Lyne had brought him was too much... and with it, too harsh a memory.
1. Notice

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* * *

Chapter 1: Notice**

* * *

Two guards passed by him not even glancing at his direction. One thing this city offered was too many hidden alcoves. Perfect for cover. He pushed himself off the wall and slowly cradled into the light. The sun was hidden by many clouds and the smog of the city also hindered the golden light. He needed to get to the transport immediately. The information he had just gathered was too important and every second counted. The sooner he passed the archive over to his superior the sooner his nightmares would end.

He walked slowly in the shadows and far away from the guards' view. Anyone would recognize him without the hood. His braids would give him away. The only reason he never removed them while on a mission was because of his loyalty. He dressed like the Haven folk, walked like them, when needed even talked like them, but his braids would draw too much attention. Too many questions to answer if he ever got caught. The only time he would ever remove his braids where when he needed to wash his hair and the monthly trip to his hairdresser. He liked his hair, not much to add there. Many his age had it cut short but he preferred his hair shoulder length. He had always had it that long and always in braids. For the past 23 years, he doesn't recall one day or event when his hair was either short or not braided; _Except maybe when I was born._

It wasn't that far to the Port, _Just keep in the shadows. Keep a low profile and no one will see you_. Sure, the shadows during the day didn't exactly give any cover but they helped in keeping secrets secret. He passed the great statue of the damnable Baron. He didn't hate him, but Hell he didn't like him at all. That reasoning existed a few weeks ago, now he loathed the man with all his might. The reason he couldn't stand the thought of him anymore lay within the archive of information he held hidden beneath his jacket.

It was a good thing he was still pretty young, otherwise he'd be looked upon as a weirdo. Not to mention the Krimson Guard would pick on him. So being his age and dressing up like an Emo or Goth or whatever these city kids called themselves was acceptable. Too bad he was blond though, another reason to keep his hood on. He'd never dye it. He hated dye on his scalp.

The good out of his disguise was that the younger, incredibly more curious population never asked him questions. Everyone minded their own business. His appearance screamed at the young generation "Leave me alone" and alone they did leave him. The only time he had to talk to them was when curiosity took the best of him.

* * *

A group had settled near the fortress. They seemed to be waiting for something or someone. He wanted to ask them, but not without an excuse. He walked over to them calmly, glad to see a few of them smoking rolled examples of cigarettes and the less legal products.

Two of them looked up as he approached, sizing him up. He looked at them all from under his hood.

"Any y'all got mesh?"

One of the smokers raised his hips and pulled out a small packet. He sat back down and threw it at him. He caught it, propped himself against a wall and hurriedly rolled up a smoke. He wasn't much of a smoker but being in Haven, he needed to mingle... unfortunately. _I need to detox my lungs..._ He sealed the roll without a filter and set it alight. One drag and he slid down the wall content.

The group relaxed after this act. He was one of them. They watched him silently smoke away the roll. One who was standing turned to him and moved closer.

"You in for a dice?" he smirked, his voice was raspy. _Heavy smoker_, the blond thought.

"Stormin' the gates, are we?" he returned the smirk.

"This is the only hour we all can have a peek. Praxis' got some good shit in there, damn bastard."

A movement caught his attention. A small part of the fortress wall shifted and two lackeys appeared each carrying a heavily stuffed duffle bag. The entrance was too high to jump or climb, until he watched them drop into open skips. There he traced with his gaze the line of entry. He smiled inwardly.

"We got the shit fellas!" one of the two yelled, the enthusiasm in his voice meant only one thing: the drugs they found was high content. Panic slowly rooted itself inside his chest. He may have dressed and acted like these people but Hell's sure he wasn't one of them. The idea of sticking a rolled paper up his nose or a needle in his arm wasn't appealing.

"Halt! You are under arrest!" _Just in time_, he sighed with relief. They all scampered around in odd directions away from the cruisers. The fact that the guards caught them indicated something important – the end of said free hour. He took note of the time and intended to search through the fortress himself the following night.

* * *

It was easy to get in. The gang had created a secure passage to the storage room. Anything which was in the way: motion detectors, lasers, cameras, they were taken care of. He could only privately thank them in his heart. Who would've believed that one good way to enter the fortress was actually through a ventilation shaft? It had taken him quite a few nights to familiarize with the layout of the premises. He had a task to complete and he was determined to finish it.

Hacking the computer wasn't so tiring. He had been thought how to hack since he was a little kid. This small gift served him a good asset. He could've taken up any kind of job, but being a spy has its perks too. He was born in Haven and lived half his life in the city, yet his loyalty wasn't to this dreaded place.

He knew nothing of his parents. The only person he knew and cared about was his mentor. Sure the man was a bit… too paranoid all the time but he lived his life under his teaching and guidance. He couldn't really remember anything of his early childhood. He used to ask questions to which his mentor had no answers. He wanted to know about his parents – the man didn't know a thing. Was he an orphan then? Possibly. His mentor did the only thing he could do. He didn't know how to raise him but to teach him what he knows, he believed it was fundamental. He had asked for help to take care of the child. If the Baron ever knew, he'd have his head on a plate.

He could recall quite vaguely his mentor talk to unknown person. He never saw his face before but now, he knew the face quite well.

"I don't know how much of a fighter he'll be but I can teach him," his mentor told the man. The blue hologram said nothing, rather thought.

"Very well, teach him all you can, but he can not stay in Haven for so long. His home is here now. Under your guidance, I can sense he may be of good use," the man said matter-of-factly.

"Thank you Sire, I'll do all I can."

The pupil-less blue head nodded, "I will send you someone to help you raise the child. He will need to come home." His mentor nodded to him understandingly. From then on he lived most of his life in two places: Haven to be taught; home to live. The wealth of knowledge he learnt from his mentor served him well. _Ah Vin, thanks so much for everything my friend._

He found the information he needed and printed both a hardcopy and softcopy of it. It wasn't much but that was all he was requested to bring back. He removed his presence and turned off the computer and took out a can from under his jacket. Shaking the can, he then sprayed the refrigerant over the computer and printer. After only a moment, the two devices were only slightly cold to the touch.

Footsteps in the hall outside caught his attention. It was time to bail out of there. Hopping onto the desk in the center of the room, he then jumped up into the shaft and closed the grid perfectly into place. The door of the office opened casually and a figure walked in quite in the wrong mood. The man slammed the door shut; a tight scowl on his old features. He straightened himself.

"They will never understand. Only with the glory of the Precursors can we defeat our enemy," the man's hand tightened so much around the scepter the young man thought he would break it in two. He sighed and turned around to search another office, leaving Count Veger trembling in his own rage.

* * *

He thought he was going to fall asleep. He laid there waiting for the redhead to leave the office for so long he was starting to believe he wasn't going to budge from behind his desk. Finally, the commander rose and left the office without uttering a word. Whether he was gone for five minutes or five hours, he needed to search that computer.

Erol had locked the door but left the computer on. He was only gone for a short while then. The young man quickly scampered out of the vent and scanned through the hard drive finding absolutely nothing. He wiped the sweat off his face in frustration. How can the commander of the Krimson Guard and literally keeper of the Fortress Prison _not_ have any juicy information?

He was about to leave when he spotted something. A hidden archive. It was rooted in the server with only two accesses: this computer and another in the Palace. Baron Praxis and Erol were up to something. He hacked through it and sat there agape.

"They're mad," he couldn't believe what he was reading. It was impossible, irrational, immoral and downright insane. Four adjectives that would describe the two men perfectly. He printed everything, again hardcopy and softcopy. He logged out of the archive, destroyed his presence on the computer and sprayed the printer.

Taking a glance at his watch he realized that the commander was taking his time. _Speak of the devil. _Footsteps. He found his way into the vent and shut the grid. Erol walked into the room, a ghastly grin stretched on his face. He didn't even look at the desk. His priority was a card he kept locked in a file-cabinet. The blond quickly understood that that card was important and needed a copy of it.

* * *

He scampered out of the shaft and into the street, tears in his eyes. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. He had all the information he needed and even took shots of the event. He was surprised with himself for enduring the whole episode. He couldn't leave the city though, not in such a state of shock and panic. He needed to be relaxed and focused.

He trawled his way through the city towards the water slums. There was one place he could stay where no one would bother him. An old Precursor shrine slept there. Many of the folk would visit it to pray and it wasn't uncommon to find someone asleep on the holy floor. Even the thought of disturbing these people in the shrine was a sin on their conscience.

He found the shrine and opened the door. An elderly couple lit two candles in front of the statue, bowed their heads and left, minding their own business and not even looking at him. The young man stared at the totem, staggered a few steps towards it and fell on his knees, tears overflowing down his face.

He prayed. He prayed he would never go through another similar experience again. He prayed for release. He prayed for justice. He prayed. He was never the religious type, but his heart ached so much he needed spiritual comfort. He prayed for salvation. He prayed for home.

Next morning he woke up at the smell of something sweet. He opened his eyes only to find an elderly and genuine smile. The old woman sat next to him and sat her bag on her lap. She then pulled out a small paper bag and offered it to him, still smiling. A sweet aroma waved to him from within the paper bag. He took the bag and was surprised it was so warm.

The elderly woman pulled out another similar bag and opened it. She gingerly tugged at something obviously too warm for her to hold. Finally, she brought up the object and wrapped the paper bag around it.

He blushed from under the hood and opened the bag. He pulled out the croissant and wrapped the bag around it. He didn't blame the old woman, the foodstuff was hot! _Freshly baked._ He watched her peel open a leg; steam escaped pouring out a scent. He broke open a leg from the croissant; hot yellow custard oozed out. He dipped the pastry in the custard and placed it in his mouth. He didn't realize he was starving and tried hard not the swallow the pastry whole otherwise it would scorch his mouth.

"I came here last night," she suddenly began, "I wished to ask the Precursors to help my niece. The young girl's pregnant. Labor's close, very close," she paused, releasing a sigh, "But… my niece can hold her own. She's a strong lass," she smiled at him. He swallowed the final scrap of food almost wishing he hadn't eaten. He suddenly counted the many days he had fasted without realizing it. Another paper bag was offered to him. He was already through half the warm pastry before she decided to continue

"It seems though, they already had their hands full with you. I had never seen anyone pray with so much heart. I must admit, you scared me when you fainted," _So that's how I fell asleep_, he thought ironically.

"I came in and when I saw you, at first I was surprised," she smiled, nibbling the pastry, "You don't really expect the young ones in here." She gazed at him, her eyes voicing a comfort he only wished he could take with him. He knew someone who would need it. The two paper bags laid neatly, empty in front of him. He sighed wondering, yet she continued.

"I sat right there, in the corner," she stated while pointing to the far left corner of the room, "and watched you pray. They heard you. I know They did. The Precursors would never keep you aside. I don't know what happened, but I'm sure it was for the best."

"It was a lesson to be learnt sooner or later," he replied solemnly. He could now understand that she didn't understand his prayers. She believed it was some kind of life lesson. He had to play along with that.

"If ever you need," she laid a shriveled hand on his, "You can talk to me if you wish to."

He smiled at her grateful, "Thank you, but something… happened… and," he stared at the Oracle, "I believe only They can answer me now."

She nodded calmly, "They have called you then," she reached out and took his chin in her free hand, "You are meant to do great things. I'm sure you'll do wondrously."

They shared a smile and prepared to leave the sanctuary. _Gunfire?_ They both stared at the door wondering why would the Krimson Guard shoot in this place. The Water Slums were probably the safest place in the entire city. _And also the best place to barter_. He moved towards the door and pulled one of the doors just the slightest. He patted his jacket to make sure everything was still in place.

The guards were making a round. The place was swarming with them. _Just my luck_. They were checking houses, one by one, to search for any non-legal substances or even people. He didn't know if they would search the shrine but knowing the Krimson Guard… they'll storm through the sacred room nonetheless.

Some were rebelling against the armored men. _The_ _Underground, they're hiding here._ He couldn't see what was actually going on. He could tell, though, that there was a struggle. The guards had their weapons cocked and ready to fire. The he saw it. A young man about his age wriggled his way into the open. He had only ran a few feet before the red projectile screeched right through him. He fell limp on the planks; the murky water below him stained.

The blond shielded his eyes. He shouldn't be surprised. These men, under the Baron's rule were simply heartless. He looked at the old woman still standing near the totem with worry. Her face was dull. She knew that the armored men wouldn't think twice to shoot them both. He was a punk and would gladly rid their city of these kids.

The young man peered out once more. _Shit!_ They were moving towards the shrine.

"Young man," she whispered. He turned around and saw her smiling. "The Precursors need you alive," she pointed to a spot, _Inside the totem? She's kidding right. The Precursors would have my head!_

"Inspect the shrine."

"Ready your weapons men. Those Underground dogs love hiding in there."

He didn't need anymore convincing. He hurried towards the totem and prayed that he wouldn't be damned for doing this. Hopping over the candles, he knelt under the arc and squeezed himself inside the totem from where a light emitted.

"By Mar," he whispered, he was simply amazed at what he was surrounded with. A beautiful crystal encased within the totem. _Crystallized Eco._ He thought for a moment it was Light Eco, but then he realized that this was different. It was the Essence of Eco.

His amazement was cut short as he heard the doors burst open. _I hope she's safe._

"May I help you gentlemen?" She was still in front of the Oracle. _Probably she was pretending to pray._

There was a long silence, only interrupted with the stomping of boots.

"Move out. This place is clean. Good day madam."

He heard the doors close as violently as they were opened. He slipped out of the hollow he was in and moved towards the old woman.

"Thank you."

"It's alright lad," she smiled, "The law is back on normal patrol if I have seen correctly. My eyesight isn't what it used to be," she chuckled.

Her comment made his smile. Moving back to the double doors, he peered through. _They're searching the other side of the slums._ He sighed and turned towards her. She gave him a curtail nod.

"You should go. Remember to listen to Them lad, They're the only ones who can help you throughout your life."

_It's not me the Precursors need to help_. "I'll do what I can. Thank you."

He left her, knowing he would never see the old woman again.

_

* * *

Just a little further_, he reached the port. Now the problems start. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and walked roughly yet quietly around the area towards the bridge connected closest to the transport. The folk here didn't even think of taking a second glance at him although the chances were they didn't even glance at him at all. 

_Keep moving_, from under the hood he saw the red transport waiting there. He was only a few feet away from the vehicle till he spotted two guards on patrol moving towards him. _I do not exist, I do not exist, I do not exist_. They walked past him, only giving him a scowl.

"Kids these days," one of them commented. The lad slowed down as he reached the transporter, chanced a glance over his shoulder… and sighed with relief. He and the archive were safe. He fished for a device in his back pocket and pulled it out. It was black and no bigger than the palm of his hand. He pressed his thumb on the central piece of the device which was a dark shade of blue. Tiny whirring sounded as the device read the print on his thumb.

The transporter door automatically opened and he walked quickly inside, the door closing instantly behind him. He placed the device on the autopilot panel. The panel had inlaid programming to transport authorized personnel to the Digg. He didn't want to go to the Digg. The device started overriding the commands within the panel. New coordinates were being inputted. The device whirred and the panel obeyed. It, as always, accepted the new location to transport him.

He felt the transport rise and move off towards home: Spargus.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Been wanting to type this out for some time now. My version of Jak II with a lot of _what ifs_.

What if…

Not gonna say a word.

Just read… and a review would be nice, as always. I would like some well-structured critique please.

Thank yous, and I'll see you for chapter 2!


	2. Home

Finally! The second chapter is ALIVE! So those of you who are following this are about to gag me for taking so long but! I have excuses... GOOD ONES! Number 1: Writer's Block (again...). Number 2: As I stated many a time before, my college loved giving out assignments. I'm working on two right now and the third is already jeering at me! Number 3: I have a personal project going on, my original novel, which I am trying to finishe (some day...) and hopefully publish (somehow...). So, yeah, bare with me here... Oh and even though I proof read this a few times, you might still encounter a few stupid typos (sorry guys)

Enough of that, and on with the show!

* * *

**Chapter 2: Home**

* * *

The red transport landed softly a foot above the ground. Sand sprayed from beneath it causing clouds to form. The sand settled as the transport eased and brought down the door. The blond calmly walked down the ramp. A few more seconds and the vehicle would ride back to Haven's Port. With the Metalhead attacks and the Underground causing such trouble, the guards never took notice of its absence.

He hurried over towards the door of the city, the transporter already in air for its departure. He took out a small object from one of his jeans pockets. This was different. Unlike the transportation device, this was of a metallic color. Very similar in size to the former but its purpose was solely to let him enter and leave the Sand City. Once in front of the great doors, he pressed a flat button, almost invisible to the eye. The device split open in two and a round, dirty white button waited to be thumb-turned. 270 degrees and the barrier opened to him. Two giant cogwheels turned and pulled in opposite directions. Though their weight was impressive, so was the speed with which they opened and closed the entrance to the city.

The blond walked inside, the cogs quickly circled back in place to close the doorway. The place, a large open-air hangar, was large enough to hold a ship, yet instead, it was occupied by eight raw vehicles. _Now these are transport._ He had always preferred wheels to anti-gravity. He always felt secure, in charge. Anti-Grav Technology, as safe as it is, it was simply lame compared to these muscles. The feeling of the vehicle gnawing the ground couldn't be compared.

He walked towards the door which lead inside the city. _First thing's first,_ he removed the jacket and undid the straps holding the archive. Hiding the file in the jacket itself, he moved closer to the door. The sensors read his presence and opened the large door in front of him. Walking beyond the door, he smiled. He was home.

The young man held the jacket securely. A leaper lizard was nearby. These animals were all mounted with a saddle and they roamed the city freely. The lizards were very obedient but not pet material. A reason why none belonged to any of the denizens. Kliever - Precursors he couldn't stand that Aussie – had a ranch and trained the animals to be transport. The oaf had more respect towards the lizards than towards any other human being. Not to mention the brute had one bastard personality to match. The blond still couldn't swallow how the man could possibly charge clergymen for the possession of the lizards. He slapped himself to get out of his seething. Looking at the hidden file, his focus now regained, he had to get this information to his superior – quick. He mounted the leaper; the animal waited.

"Inyana."

The lizard gave a small cry and started its route, guided by its rider. Usually, anyone in Spargus, wearing jeans would receive a few odd looks. Anyone with jeans and hooded jacket would possibly be followed. Anyone with the two clothes items, braids, strapped down armor and a familiar face… Many knew of him. Many were good friends of his. They knew him. They knew he was in a hurry. They knew he had something important. They knew to keep their noses out of his business.

The lad kept his mind focused. He needed to get to the one place only authorized personnel could enter. His occupation rendered him one of such personnel. One hand on the reins, the other securing the jacket, cold sweat pooled at his brow. His hands began to quiver. He prayed his superior would be merciful. Those images, those haunting excruciating images. They'll never leave him in peace before that desperate soul is saved. He wouldn't, _couldn't_, allow such torture.

"_Bind him down!"_

"_You have not found a method to break it yet, Commander?"_

"_It has a strong will Your Lordship."_

"_Its will? MY will, is stronger. I can't have it act in such rashness at the final stage!"_

"_Yes, My Liege. Anaesthetize that thing, men!"_

"_Not too harsh Commander. Not too harsh…"_

He loathed that voice. That self-righteous sever of a smirk in that metallic face disgusted him greatly. How can a man gloat in joy at such unforgivable acts? To call another, a human being of flesh and bone, whose heart beats in sorrow and pain, an object to his bidding. The blond's jaw clenched in fury. No, this will end. He will make sure of it.

In his lucid state of mind, he hadn't realized he had arrived at his destination. The entrance was just before him.

"Ryetho." The lizard stopped dead in its tracks. The blond dismounted the animal, patting its neck as he moved towards the door. Pulling out a card, he swiped it through a card reader. The machine opened into a palm reader. He placed his hand onto the glass and it read his print, a double tone sounded signifying an approval.

He removed his hand, the device closing back with the door opening up immediately after. He entered through the door; the sensors registered the movement and shut the large door behind him. Taking out a key from around his neck, he slid it into a lock mounted on a small greenish box and turned it twice anti-clockwise.

"_Voice recognition activated_."

"Exer Lyne," he stated, repeating his name to the computer.

"_Approved_," the electronic voice confirmed. The green-like box shifted its almost invisible panel to reveal a keypad. "_Key-in sequence now_." Exer keyed-in his PIN and the extra two digits even less personnel would use which would lead them to a specific room only if called.

The computer processed the PIN by checking its database. The number corresponded with the voice pattern successfully. It then checked whether or not this person was authorized to enter said specific room. Referencing to an external database, it compared the PIN with all, or rather, if any, other PIN numbers inputted. There was only one person who could access this database. This person was his superior. To be more specific, he was everyone's superior. If his number were inputted into the external database, he would be granted entry

"_Approved_," the voice chimed.

The blond turned the key once clockwise. The panel closed off the keypad and the sound of elevator breaks unclamping the cables was heard. Security was not an option in this city. As free as the denizens were, they all had to be careful. One would think this place safer from the ravaged metal city just across the sea, but the fact was, they were only safe because they all take special care and precaution. Metalhead attacks weren't so common here thankfully but Spargus had one other enemy: the Marauder Tribe. Spargians and Marauders had been in feud ever since the Sand City was built. The desert tribe didn't exactly like foreigners occupying a piece of useless space in 'their' desert even though they themselves didn't occupy the entire sand span but only a small area where a large river flowed through.

The last time the ruler of the city tried to settle a compromise with them, their response was sending him back his messenger in a large sack as a jigsaw puzzle. This meant much more than war to the leader. He saw that there was no communicating, let alone reasoning, with these people. They were barbarians and no more.

There was a lot more history than one thought about the two nations. The Marauder Tribe had been in existence for centuries. Scouring the vast desert plains, their legend was, is and forever shall be the success of survival. They knew not of agriculture, treaty or second chance. They hunted their food ferociously, they condemned those who might oppose them even if the said opposing force were a traveling peace tribe and they tortured those who's first chance they challenged and failed.

These men and women believed in strength and strength alone. Democracy was a joke. Only the strongest could lead them and those who challenged the leader for his or her place was welcomed warmly. The battles for leadership must always end the same: last man standing. They enjoyed regular battles and their death toll was astounding. One would wonder how was it possible for such a culture of people to exist when all they did was literally kill each other off. They did, however, believe in teamwork. Everything that they are compelled to do; be it a hunt, a run around the sandy plains or even to mock a Spargian on a mission, they did so in packs. It was no use calling them a group for they are lower than animals.

The Marauders were, though, a nation to learn from and every other person learnt the same thing: Don't be like them. Quite simple really.

Spargus on the other hand was a city of democratic relevance and as nomadic the people may seem, their technology was Atlantean. It was one other reason why the barbaric tribe would cause such havoc at their walls. Such technology was priceless. Selling it would bring about a bountiful fortune, buying s few city leaders' attention and bringing their interest in their stride would easily give them power. A power no one wanted to see in their hands. If such an occurrence would manifest, the world could easily find itself in midst of the Stone Age.

Yet the major reason why Marauders and Spargians have been in feud for so long is a simple yet tragic story. Spargus was built by Marauders. A small group who believed in other matters than battle and gore. This group was the Enlightened. A Marauder group of priests who knew better than the simple minded and blood fest philosophy of the rest of the tribe, and because of their knowledge, they were abandoned.

The Enlightened's first priority was to build a sacred space and at the same time, fortification against those who despised them. It was only a matter of time until many a traveler, tribe and outcast had joined in their fort and as such, Spargus was born a city of alternative people all with the same intention: to live peacefully amongst themselves and others as equals. The Enlightened was this nation's council, they set out the laws and philosophy of the city and all were eagerly compliant. It was not long after the Council was into politics that their soul felt the absence of complete spirituality. The building of a temple was then due but to find a suitable location within the city was impossible and yet a place suitable for a temple they found.

Across the desert plains and hidden away besides a waterfall, only accessible with the proper equipment, the Council found an abandoned spiritual retreat. The Enlightened was once more as restoration of the giant labyrinth took place and not long after its completion did many a man and woman plead to join their ranks of spirituality. Only by completing a set of trials would they enter, and a considerable few succeeded. The Enlightened was yet still Spargus' council so their place was yet still within the city, only until the metallic city of Haven produced a suitable leader. His exile out of his own empire was proof enough he was capable of leadership for they knew of him and his kind heart and they were kind enough to let him keep his title of King although many had doubted if one could honor such a name at such a young age.

_The King of Spargus, _Exer thought in the sound of his own breathing.

The elevator rose softly, quiet humming eased him mind as the cables pulled upon the box to raise it to the top floor. The only floor no one could enter unless asked to. He stood silently, as calm as he seemed, his heart was beating ferociously within his breast. The file he held was scalding to his mind. He wondered how his superior would react; _Mercifully I hope_.

The elevator slowed to a halt yet there was no opening. The blond gave the key a final turn clockwise. A shaft above the elevator slid open. The heavy metal panels whirred tiredly as the elevator eased upwards and stopped. The spy took his key out of the lock and placed it over his head to let it rest around his neck. He took a few deep breaths and moved forward. Sensors revealed his presence and opened the door. He pushed through a thick ivory colored curtain and was welcomed by a room of marvelous design.

Stony, shallow watery canals lined the wide floor space as plants whose large, long green leaves adorned the walls and waters and any alcove willing to house them. Large glass hand painted windows worshipped the skyline as they were held up by elaborately designed columns. Whenever the young man entered this room, the beauty of it always took his breath away. It was impossible for one not to gasp and awe at every corner for some secret of art was always held. He walked slowly over the cobblestone path which crossed over the small rivers, as he admired this room for the umpteenth time. Walking over to the center of a simple laid floor after the waters, he kneeled. Between two ecstatic columns designed with history stood proudly a large chair intricately adorned yet still simple in design.

The Spargian Throne.

Exer was many a time asked to be present within this room, the throne room.

The man seated before him was his superior.

His superior was none other than the King of Spargus.

The King stood before the kneeling young spy. Dressed in ivory regalia, scepter always present within his grip, silver hair pulled back in dreadlocks, his eyes warm or cold to anyone but always alert, always carrying himself with great authority and responsibility, he descended the few steps before his throne and stood silent a mere foot away from the bowed head of the blond. His face held no expression.

"Lyne," he called, his voice flooded with order. The blond straightened his pose but still didn't look up at him. The man towering above him sighed exasperatedly, relaxing his shoulders. A half smile, half smirk crawled upon his lips, "Lyne, stand up," his tone was friendly.

The blond didn't think twice and stood erect in front of him, "Sire," he acknowledged automatically, his eyes having firm contact with those of the King.

"Lyne," the authority figure started, "How many times must I tell you to stop calling me 'Sire'. I've known you since you were seven years of age and you, in turn, know me intimately." Taking a few steps away from the lad towards a column, he leaned his six-foot scepter against the rotund support, "In here, unless I command it, we are all equals."

"But Sire," the blond retorted. Moving up to him, the King placed a hand on the youth's shoulder, squeezing it affectionately, "Son, just like you, I'm a Haven born. That, my friend, makes us equal enough," the elder's smile was enough for the young man to relax.

"Sir –"

"Nope!" the man chimed in. The two exchanged chuckles delightfully.

"Damas," he finally answered correctly to the man.

"Ah, much better," hearing his own name from the lad was music to his ears. Having everyone and anyone call you 'Your Highness', 'Your Lordship', 'my King', 'Sir' or 'Sire' all day, plus many another name the common folk might come up with to show respect, can make one feel a bit too important to themselves.

"Now," the man started, gently cupping the youngster's shoulders, "On to business," he stated in a shallow voice, "What have you found regarding my son?"

Exer gazed into the man's face, his knowledgeable eyes were pouring with hope. Something, anything, even a nuisance form of information on the whereabouts of his lost son would bring relief to his troubled soul. At least, he would know his boy was alive.

Damas and his wife had prayed vehemently for a son, not for the crown's sake but for themselves. The call of parenthood had been reaching out to them and they were more than willing to abide. Three years after their glorious marriage, for it was glorious indeed, no other city, state or country had ever cheered with so much joy as two beloved became one. Three years after that day, from husband and wife, King and Queen, they were to become mother and father, parents to either a son or daughter, Prince or Princess or Spargus. The city denizens were all eager to know the unborn child's gender, their name, as they all counted the days of pregnancy, waiting as patiently as they could, allowing Nature all freedom to unfold her bidding.

It was a great dismay that after no more than eight weeks had the mother-to-be informed of miscarriage. The forming babe in her womb was too weak to live. To make all matters worse, the Queen was found incapable to bear any children. It was a tragedy of all who sought the creation of a family and also a tragedy for the people as they enjoyed this couple's rule and had hoped and prayed to remain under their benevolent hand. This seemed not to occur unfortunately.

Damas, though, was not to be discouraged so easily. Though the royal couple tried many a time, it was futile alone. The King, at every dawn and set of the sun prayed to his great Ancestor for a child, wishing none other than to continue his forefather's name and legacy. The royal family had been left to nothing as days had gone by. New technology in medication made it irrational to bare more than one or two siblings and thus, because of their fame, those who opposed and seethed, brought the name almost to ruin. Now it seemed, Nature Herself couldn't keep a hand out of this shedding line. Or maybe Destiny had had enough.

It took the man seven years of pleading and praying to his Ancestor, the man who built many a nation, invented many a machine and plan to facilitate life and brought unity to many a people of the world along his travels, the man who fought righteously in the name of all humankind against the mutated creatures from the abyss, the Hora Quan, also the man who founded the metallic city of Haven to be as its name implied, for a haven it was, until backstabbed.

Seven years upon his knees, Damas prayed to his great Ancestor; leader, inventor, warrior, defender and philosopher, his name hung on many a man's, woman's and child's lips: Mar Elector.

_Fatum rector electus_.

_A Leader, Teacher and Master chosen by Destiny_.

By dawn and by dusk, King Damas Elector of Spargus, prayed to his Ancestor.

His Ancestor had proven that he had not forgotten his children.

After seven years, Damas was gifted with a son and as thanks to the Ancient Master, he named the boy after him, Mar.

The young Mar, through unfortunate events, vanished from the Sand City. Some believed him dead, many thought him captured by the Marauder Tribe but the boy's parents and close guardians believed otherwise.

Haven's visitors now had another task at hand.

A year had been sewn since the then three-year-old had vanished. Searching through the streets, retailers, pubs and bars and any outlet, all housing and any abandoned shaft. He still couldn't be found. This reason alone pushed the King to call for Lyne. The young man was the best in infiltration and technological handling. He knew the young spy was more than capable to complete the mission he was about to assign unto him.

Now, here they were, the young man still holding the archive in his arm and his Haven born brother pleading to know what news it may contain. The blond took the archive and opened it; within it laid two separate files, one much thicker than the other. He took the thinnest file and handed it over to him.

The anxious father took the file, moving over to the steps before the throne he seated himself and hurriedly opened the thick paper bound file. He read the content slowly. There wasn't much to read through. His expression, with every line he read, and every time he reread those same lines, fell as hope thinned and an emptiness within his breast grew all the much deeper. He closed the file with a sorrowful frown. All that it contained were confirmations that the child was taken from him and was – hopefully – still present in the city.

He sighed in wonder. There had to be some kind of lead, anything. He looked up at the blond who still stood in his place.

"Lyne," he called to him, his voice soft yet deep, "Come sit beside me."

Exer could only comply. He found his seat on the man's left. All he wanted, was some kind of news that his son was still breathing. That would've been enough to ease his heart of the past year's ache. Not only had he lost his son, but his wife couldn't stand the torture the event inflicted upon her heart. She and her councilmen left the city in hopes that she would regain sanity after the loss of her son.

_Our son, my beloved._

The man placed a hand over his heart, pressing into his chest in hopes to ease the pain. Oh how he missed her. Just the thought of her and his heart would ache twice over as it was not only for she but also for the child she bore him. The blond placed a gentle hand upon the man's shoulder. This was becoming more and more troubling. He didn't know how to comfort him. He wasn't a man of family. He wasn't even in a relationship. He knew not of love but he knew of friendship. The best he could do now was sit beside him, comforting him only with his presence.

The elder took a few deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly, trying to calm his emotions. Turning his head towards the younger, he eyed the file. Its thickness was already a heated sight. His heart began to thump harder against his chest. Lyne followed the man's line of sight. The file. Its content alone could bust aflame with heresy. The young spy began to tremble instantly. Those screams of mercy invaded his mind once more. The King read the blond's eyes perfectly. New information… on something far dire.

"Lyne."

The blond was jerked to attention at the sound of his name. One look at the man and he instantly knew, it was now all business. His breath, though unnoticeable, was quicker, heavier. This worried the King greatly.

"What happened at the Fortress?" he ordered.

The young man gulped down his emotions, hoping they wouldn't resurface at any time soon. Shutting his eyes tight, he prayed salvation was at hand. He looked over the file one last time and handed it to his superior. The man took possession of it forthwith, skimming through it. With each page turn, his face paled. Slowly standing, his jaw hung at the shock and horror of it all.

"Is this their grand idea? Their ingenious plan to exterminate the Metalheads?" he thought out loud. His eyes widened each time he turned from one report to the other. Men and women tortured to take part in the one final act against the insectoid creatures and their leader and parent.

It was titled the "Dark Warrior Program".

Simple enough in theory. Heathen in their method of action. Taking the prison's residents, those capable of channeling more than just common Green Eco, strapped against their will and used as experiments.

The man's hands were trembling, causing the file he held to quiver. One by one, prisoners of any crime were put to the test to diagnose their channeling capabilities. Many died on the first account. Those who succeeded died shortly after. The machine created to produce the ultimate weapon was something one would expect from the two century deceased Inquisition. It proved to inflict fear in many a strong willed soul.

Their belief towards what would such a noxious weapon be is a warrior created out of the infusion of Dark Eco. Such a deadly substance. Once touched, there's no going back. The experiments died instantly. One after the other. Every report of 'successful candidates' finished with death as the toxin spread like bacteria within them, fusing with every cell in their body only to suffocate it. The longest one lasted was one hour. One hour of pain and torture from within their body.

If words weren't enough, photographs of the experiments were taken. They all were the same. Strapped down onto the merciless machine, needles puncturing into many a vein, injecting them with the substance. The only relief this brought him was that they were granted death after such pain.

Turning one more report concluding with death, the last one was something to look at. Its thickness was already inviting.

Skimming through it, just slightly slower. The first few pages stated something too vague even to read. He couldn't understand what this 'flash' and 'comet' had to do with this particular candidate. Quickly skipping a few more pages, he found what he was looking for. The prisoner's biography. The man had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The one thing which caught his attention:

_Age: Verified – 15_

"He's just a boy," he whispered as he gazed at that one line. Shifting a few more pages, reading one or two lines here and there. This was piercing his heart_. _How can any person find it within themselves to destroy one so young?

He stopped leafing the pages as he found a thin stack of photographs. Lifting the first off the pile, the King studied it intensely. It portrayed a young teenager wearing a blue tunic, a gash on his forehead, long blond hair stained in red as he was being carried unconscious by a Krimson Guard. The boy looked from country folk. Very few villages still lived in such tradition. For what purpose he was arrested he didn't know just yet.

Leafing through the thick report once again, it seemed very obvious to him that the boy had some kind of gift. The answer came pounding his face only moments after as a connective report of the experiments had the doses listed. They doubled at every given period.

His chest tightened so much he couldn't breathe. The poor child. So young. So innocent. He searched for the last page, wishing to know the date his soul had departed. He intended to pray to the innocent boy and his family. Finally having said end page in front of him, he was surprised to find something else.

Scanning the page over and over again, his eyes narrowed, his breath quickened. _This is impossible!_

"He's still alive?!" he demanded as he jolted his gaze towards the blond. The latter did not respond. His expression one of hope.

More photographs. These, unlike the computer printed specimens, were Lyne's own. One year of torture can change one extensively. The boy was almost unrecognizable. _I must do something. _One after the other, one picture after the other, one agony after the other. This had to stop.

Closing the file, Damas looked at the young man. The responsibility of his mission weighed more than it had in originality. It was no wonder the lad's eyes held such hope and distress.

"Lyne," he called as he moved forward, caressing a shoulder when he approached the blond, "You have endured much. Go and rest your mind and find your soul relief." Taking a golden ring from around his own finger, the King presented it to the lad, "Take this," he stated while placing it in the youth's open palm, "Go down to the hangar, ride the Hopper. If Kliever's there, present him the ring. He'll have to answer to me if he restrains you from riding it. Go to the temple. Find the High Priestess. Show her the ring and ask for spiritual ease. She'll understand. You may rest there the night. I won't call for you for any more missions. At least, not for now. Not before you're whole again."

Exer had worn the ring and held it in such respect, planting a kiss upon it.

"And don't worry about this," the King assured, raising the closed file slightly, "I need time to read through it. To know what those beasts are doing."

The spy didn't have to think twice. He fell to his knees in thanks, tears streaking his face and without a word, he left the royal abode, intending to follow what he was told very willingly.

Damas walked cautiously towards his throne, placing the bound file neatly upon the seat. His eyes narrowed, his lips a scowl of disgust. His hands were long clenched in rage.

_You've gone too far Praxis._

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED…

* * *

Hmmm... A LOT of history here only to make things a bit more clearer (I hope). Next chapter will see some good old fashioned history about Damas.

Now, I do believe some thanks are in order:

_Reviews:_

_Ed Renalds:_ Thanks for your support.

_DemonicDragonMutt: _Thanks for the compliment!

_Insomnia Isky: _Thank you dear and I hope the rest of this keeps you intrigued also ;)

_Guardian Angel of Haven City_: Well, if I somehow contradicted myself I must've been high on something... or low on said same something for all I know. I hope you enjoy this and thanks for your time.

_MidnightAbyss:_ Thank you for the compliment dear. Well, all I can say is _stay tuned to find out more! _Oh Gods, that was so cheesy... If you did have somewhat the same idea I just hope this is somewhat fleshing out said idea... if that makes sense. Ah well...

_sock monkeys_: Whoa! When you want to give a compliment you sure do without effort. Thanks a lot, and as for 'not finding any good fanfics', maybe, just maybe, you're not looking well enough. There are quite a few which are worth the time to read. Just look a tad bit harder.

- & -

And that's that for those (?)

If any of you have been following any of my other three fanfics, here some news:

_Fall Down_ shall be deleted. Had six months of writer's block, then my Computing project, then my computer died and when I got a new one and reread the whole thing... what the heck was I thinking??

_Outcasts' World_ shall be deleted. Might or might not, probably not, upload the sixth chapter. I'm going to turn the thing into an original I'm titeling _Hunt Outcast_.

_The Darkness Within_... still don't know what to do with it. Might rewrite it. _Might!_

Some news on new things: I have an idea for another _Jak and Daxter_ fanfic set after _Jak X_... _prepare for twists and turns and thriller. Muhahahhahaaaa! _**IF** I start it that is...

- & -

And, that is all. I shall bid you all farewell and goodnight.

DL.


	3. Remembrance

(peeps cautiously) HERESCHAPTER3 (sprints like mad to safety)

* * *

**_Chapter 3: Remembrance_**

**_

* * *

_**

Doubled-glazed windows locked securely.

Door closed and locked for privacy.

Candles alight unhindered.

The large room cozy and warm.

Bed still untouched.

Desert nights always presented themselves in similar fashion. During the day, the heat is close to unbearable unless one has the knowledge to cope. Yet the night found itself the brighter's opposite. Bone-chilling cold. Temperatures close to freezing. Yet this night, it was the still flaming candles and unoccupied bed which made it all different.

Damas Elector was still poring over the files Exer Lyne had brought back with him from Haven City. The file containing the meager information about Mar, his son, was tucked away in a large archive filled with similar information: reports of the boy's disappearance from Spargus, reports about the young child in Haven, hacked e-mails concerning the child, any scrap of information the King's spies could dig out. Alongside it, an entire shelf including the shelves above and below it, archive after archive brimming with reports, news, statements, agendas, plans, anything concerning the metallic city he once was to rule. He never had the chance to even sit on the throne for one day. He was too young back then, still his father's apprentice. Ever since his exile, Haven City, under Baron Praxis' command went from ecstatic to uninhabitable in a blink of an eye. With each new event, Damas' soul felt the need for vengeance for what the man had done to his father's, and his forefathers' city. It had become a shame carved on the map of the world. Imprisonment within the people's own home – it disgusted him.

But for now, the man had spent all day, and now seemingly all night, scouring this latest rendition of the Governor's 'brilliant' mind. From what he had read, the "Dark Warrior Program" started off as simple experiments to find new uses for Eco. Then, finally, someone – Damas could only imagine who – elaborated an idea to fuse Eco with human beings, in thought and hopes that the subject would be able to wield the energy source as a weapon. Many would believe this to be based on myth.

The King knew better.

Unfortunately for the Baron, the test subjects had to have a certain resistance to Eco first. Not many could actually even channel Green Eco. Green Eco, the Eco of Life, unlike its name, it is used to heal many an ailment. It is the simplest, most straight-to-the-point Eco on all Gaea. Channeling the energy would result in better and much faster healing. Not many could success such a feat, to channel the energy as soon as injected, or absorbed as tradition has it.

The Baron didn't care whether or not the candidates could channel or not: they were all tried with Blue Eco, the Eco of Motion. Blue Eco was still something of a mystery as well as the rest of the Ecos. In old scripts and ancient text, Blue Eco was channeled to increase one's speed and movement and helped in many a battle to sway from the attacker's strikes. Also interesting was the myth that once channeled, Precursor Artifacts would respond such as doors opening to gain entry, plates brought to life to ease movement from say a platform to another further away. Blue Eco was used till a few decades ago as a form of electricity, but this resulted in heavy use because of the substance being so weak. During the experiments, candidates suffered what was termed within the file as 'Shock Burn'. Simply put, the candidates were electrocuted. Those who actually passed this test, which were few, died during the next phase: fusion with Yellow Eco.

Yellow Eco, known as the Eco of Accuracy, when channeled, imbued the channeler with the ability to shoot the Eco as projectiles from their own fingertips. This was very much the beginning of the now common gun. Yet the strength of the projectile was determined on the sole strength of the channeler themselves. Injured, tired, weak or ill, the projectile would either confuse or knock out the opponent. At full strength, the channeler had to power to murder. Yet even this latter was detrimental on one other fact: the strength of the person's channeling abilities. The more efficiently they could channel, the harder and more accurate the hit. None of the Baron's candidates made it to the next phase, their internal organs literally melted as soon as injected. The proceeding phase would lead to the final test: fusion with Red Eco.

This was the Eco of Force. It is said that when channeled, the channeler was given vampiric strength. As with the former Eco, it all was determined according the one's channeling strength. The taking one's life with one strike was recorded, again, one when one was strong in their abilities.

Nowadays, such feats and events never occur. Eco is impossible to channel, so much so, the old and ancient scriptures are deemed myths and legends. Yet many are skeptical about that modern fact since the channeling of Green Eco, as uncommon as it is, is possible. It all, as scientifically proved, comes down to one's genes. That channeling gene had been close to completely erased, according to one school of genetics. According to another, it is but dormant since the use of weaponry had become common ground. Channeling Eco for the sake of defense or, ludicrously, war deems unnecessary.

Praxis, it seemed, felt the need to resurrect the Olde Ways by forcing the prisoners locked in the Fortress to awaken the gene. None survived… but one. Passing all the tests in no more than two weeks. The final phase, fusion with Dark Eco, had commenced. Dark Eco, Eco of Decay, known only to bring about the end to all things. Fusing such with one's body would bring about the same. The Governor didn't believe so. Sick of candidates failing test after test, those capable or not of channeling any of the former Ecos were granted the final phase. It worked like cyanide. All failed the last test… again, but one.

Whether the boy was actually channeling the Eco was still a mystery according to the report. As it was injected, he took it, used it, any effects weren't recorded. The group of scientists working on the project had concluded the lad _couldn't_ channel Eco, but use it as energy and no more. Simply put, his body had no response the any of the substances but merely found them as a source it can use to heal, multiply its cell base, strengthen its nervous system and the list goes on.

Baron Hector Praxis had them executed.

Running the program with his second in command, Commander Erol, the project continued, still in secret, solely on the young teen.

Damas held one of Lyne's photographs. The kid seemed to have mutated, barely recognizable due to the torturous events. According to the report, the boy had been captive for eighteen months. There was no determined date of birth so the lad could be easily seventeen years of age unless he still hadn't 'celebrated' the day. Jailed for "appearing in the central Industrial Area after a flash had appeared over the city and what seemed like a comet, plummeting to the ground, frightening many of the citizens present". If you couldn't get yourself sick just by reading that; he didn't know what could be more pathetic.

Praxis.

For as long as he knew the man, not once did he like him. The King had always addressed the Baron with his last name and treating him, noticeably, with low regard and high alert. It seems, at such a tender age, he was right about the man.

His mind reeled back to that day. Even today, the memory brought none other than distraught.

* * *

A bead of nausea slid down his temple. His eyes fixed on the double doors which made entry to his own bedchambers. The sense of security the room offered now felt false, mocking. Soldiers had taken position behind that door, waiting.

Someone betrayed them.

Someone betrayed his father, and he knew exactly who.

He had just finished his session with his tutor and calmly headed for the gardens. The silent sounds of a futile struggle had reached him. Curious, he headed back to the library. To his surprise, there were four soldiers clad in their usual green and black, before the great doors leading to room housing much knowledge.

One of the guards saw the young Prince and casually walked up to him, "May we be of assistance Sire?" he had said.

The young royal narrowed his eyes, "No," he replied suspiciously and turned to leave.

The soldier hadn't saluted him.

He headed back to his bedchambers instead the gardens. The room was secure after all. Turning a corner he had realized the same group of soldiers guarding the library were silently following him.

He had picked up his pace.

The soldiers were close to breaking into a run and yet run the young blond did.

Now, those same men were behind the door, waiting for him. His heart beat too fast and too strong for him to breathe proper.

A wall besides him shifted and pulled back. Two ashen white faces greeted him from the hidden passage.

"Damas!" His mother rushed forward and took the lad into a tight embrace, too happy to find him intact. The boy didn't move, his gaze still once again on the door before him.

"Why is he doing this?" his voice barely audible.

Silence.

Not a breath could be heard. Nothing except a soft, proud clicking of shoes against the marble behind the door. They stopped at the barrier. Three distinct knocks were heard followed by an eccentric voice.

"My dear young Prince," the voice called in a snicker.

Damas turned to his father. The King's eyes narrowed in disgust.

"Erdwan?" his wife also clearly recognized the voice.

"Have all our advisors turned against us?" Damas asked, very unsure of what to make out of the situation.

"Thankfully no," his father replied, "Lyne locked himself in the control room of the power station. He had contacted me over a secure frequency. It was he who alerted me of Praxis' betrayal. Although, I didn't expect Veger to side with the man," he thought out loud.

"I never trusted him," the youth retorted.

"And right you were about that. I should've listened to you my son."

"What happened to Senna? What happened to Samos?" the Queen demanded.

"I'm not sure about Senna my love, but Samos Hagai recruited the few guards who hadn't been brainwashed and sought a safe house. I only hope and pray they don't meet our same fate."

"What?" the blond almost screamed.

"Ah, I see you have guests," the Count taunted, "This only makes my task easier."

"He's going to have us murdered," the blond whispered to himself, "This is it."

"_Damas_," his father yelled, as he seized the lad's shoulders, "May we die, but you must carry on the family legacy."

"But Father!"

"Damascus listen to me! You are the last of the bloodline. You _must_ do as I say. Flee from the Palace. As soon as you set foot outside…" he remained silent, but his message conveyed.

"Father, I can't. I'm not ready."

"I'm sorry my son, but you must take on the responsibility. Hector seeks blood. I will only allow that it'll be ours, not yours."

"If Praxis takes over who shall I rule? Gather rebels and –"

"My son is no leader of rebellion. You shall rule as our forefathers have ruled. And to do so, you must flee. I beg of you Damas. Leave."

"Damas," his mother's face was wrecked with tears, "Go."

His breath heavy, his blood boiling, his mind racing, his heart bleeding, his soul empty.

One step back, followed by another. His back touched the wall beside the opening. What was he to do?

His father took his wife's amulet and along with his, reached out, and handed them to his son. The blond held the two matching amulets in one hand, studying them. These amulets, just like the one he wore around his neck, just as all the hidden engravings, bore the same image: the Seal to the House of Mar Elector.

_One step outside, and I shall no longer be Prince_. His heart pounded ferociously within his breast as it wailed and screeched in pain and agony.

"As soon as you reach the library, follow the path towards the market. Take the right pathway."

"That leads to a dead end."

"No. Pass your amulet over the weary stone. An inscription should present itself to you. You need not know what it says. As soon as you spot the seal, place the amulet on top of it. A passageway will grant you freedom to the streets. No one has used that path in centuries."

He could only nod. Taking one more step followed by another, he was in the passage. _What am I doing?_

His father read him clearly, "Damas!" he seethed, "Go!"

"B-But," he began in a stammer.

"Damas," the King intoned, "I order you to leave." As harsh as his words were, the man's eyes were begging, pleading him to flee for safety. The blond looked for some other answer from his mother, instead, he found the same.

"Damas, please, leave," the tone of her voice was screaming in agony.

He unwillingly passed one of the amulets he held over the engraving to shut the doorway of hidden passage. The last image of his parents; in embrace, pleading to him yet their will, their presence powerful and strong.

"You make me proud my son," his father confided.

He reached for them, one last time. The wall folded in, sealing the royal couple's fate.

"No!"

Throwing himself against the thick wall of a door, his knees buckled as tears streamed down his face. He felt terrible, a coward, a fiend. _All for a legacy._

Amulet in hand he reached for the engraving once again. He couldn't possibly let his parents fall for him until he heard something short of an explosion.

The doors were open.

"And so, it shall end here." He heard though muffled. This voice was new. It was harsh, deep, playful, gloating: Praxis.

"My King and Queen," the young Prince heard him jeer, "Where's your brat of a son."

"How dare you?!" the King sneered; _Oh Father._

Something was happening behind the wall for he heard a small storm of boot against marble. It seemed it was now that the soldiers moved within the room.

"Lieutenant," the burly man called.

"What?" Damas whispered. The Lieutenant couldn't possibly…

"End it," the bear of a man ordered.

Silence still.

"Lieutenant!"

The man in question made his voice heard, "I can not, will not and shall not strike at whom I serve. And I serve in one name: Elector!"

The Prince let out a deep sigh of relief, "Thank you Uncle." Unlike his father, his mother had other siblings. The royal line, starting from but a few generations early, seemed to have adapted a strange curse for only one son is born each generation and stranger still, though the lad would eventually take up appearances similar to the father, the irises were solely from the mother.

There was some commotion before he realized that his uncle's defiance meant his last. The shot, though the sound was distant, kept ringing in his skull along with his mother's wails and his father's less than royal language.

His parents quieted abruptly.

"No, no, no, no, no…" the blond chanted to himself. His heart began to ache. He couldn't just stay there, crouched behind a wall, but he was. Fear kept him paralyzed.

Gods, I pray to you, please…

Something within his core died as he sprinted towards the destination his father set him to. He knew these passages well. He was taught them when younger, _just in case_, his father used to assure him, though it seemed more for the simple fun of it. No one knew of them, not even the advisors, or so he hoped.

It hadn't taken much to convince the Prince to dash to some kind of safe spot. The soldiers' pulling the trigger of their weapons was enough. Another passage closed and he found himself underneath the library. He followed his father's instructions. He had to leave the palace.

He was ordered to.

His chest racked, his breath uneven, his eyes fogged with tears.

He stopped.

The gun at his forehead gave him a moment to blink out the sorrow.

"Isn't it our young Prince? What a lovely surprise," a smirk carved its way up the senior's visage.

The young blond swallowed hard. Fear jolted him erect as the sound of boots filled the passages. In no time he was surrounded by soldiers, men who were supposed to be his father's elites.

Turning, he eyed the Baron with loathe.

"Hector! Please! No!" A woman's cries caught all's attention. She rushed forward, stumbling along the way, aiming to shield the lad.

Guns were raised and she stopped. Her green robe accentuated her figure and most especially her beautiful eyes, the same color as the dress, no matter how much her long strawberry fringe obscured them. The woman was but four years older than the Prince. The bastard of a man before him, yet another three.

"Alena!" the armored brute called, "Come here!"

The woman didn't move. She was terrified. "What are you doing?" she stammered.

"I believe I had asked you to remain within our quarters my dear,"

_Bastard_, the Prince thought loathingly. The poor woman had just wed the beast and no amount of convincing from the blond could change her mind.

She loved him, she had said.

He was caring and understanding, she had said.

And now, he shows her his true colors.

"Please," she whispered, "What are you doing?"

A sadistic smile crept up the man's face, "It must be done."

With a gasp she ran towards the young royal, shielding him from her husband's insanity.

"May I suggest," a proud voice called from behind the duo, "a different approach to the matter at hand?" the Count moved forward calmly towards the Baron. The latter studied the man well. His gaze then shifted to the image of his wife, still stubbornly protecting the young man.

"Would it please you?" he asked her, his voice a snicker.

"As long as none of you harm him."

"Even better!" the Count praised. Everyone's attention was on the noble now. What did he mean, no one seemed to be able to decipher.

His already weary eyes took in the image before him, seeming to revel in his self-gloating.

"Exile."

With that word alone, a cacophony of motion erupted. The young Prince was pried from the woman's arms as she begged for another way. His wrists locked, taken unharmed in procession throughout the streets of the city he was to rule. The Baron's voice booming through speakers of sorts which were scattered throughout the city boasting of his climb to power. Any protest was easily handled. Taken as far as the port, he was shoved carelessly into a transporter.

Damas loathed the man even more.

Praxis made her watch.

_Alena._

Left to die in the barren wastelands stretches of land away from his home, he believed himself to be sealed to that fate.

"_This is the Marauder city of Spargus. _

_The Precursors told us you would come to us. _

_They praised you, my King._

_They said Your Highness would lead our city righteously._

_If, that is, My Lord accepts."_

* * *

_This is my destiny then? _

_My rule? _

_My kingdom?_

_I will regain Haven, one way or the other._

_I promise you Father._

_I promise you Mother._

_I promise you, my people._

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

(peeps again) Ahem... Not really my favourite chapter so far...

Now it's either gonna be a chapter with a mega flashback or a chapter with preparations for some stealthy action.

I'll.... decide later.

I do have an excuse for the tardiness of this and it is: I wrote and rewrote this damn thing around four of five times, plus block, plus college, plus life in general.

- & -

Reviews:

PrecursorQueen: Wow, thank you so much and yes, the big man is gonna play his cards, woot!

_Fhulhi the Crazy:_ Thanks for your comment. Yeah, the poor woman couldn't handle it. First it's the nagging pain of motherhood then it's the excrutiating pain that... well... her son's gone.

_Insomnia_Isky: _Thank you dear!

_MidnightAbyss: _I must admit, your enthusiasm is enough to drive me out the window (in a good way). Here it is, finally. Fourth chapter needs some good olf fashioned planning though. I'll do my best!

_Ven Diagram: _Thanks and as for what Damas does... unfortunately, ya gatta wait... Need to lay out a good foundation first, then the proper constructive work can start heh.

_WOMDD: _Why thank you.

_Lucky 7: _Thanks and YES! This shall continue... I'll make double effort to do so.

_Guardian Angel of Haven City: _I hope this poor excuse of a chapter is enough so far. I'll work harder for the next chapter which will most probably be another flashback (I like flashbacks). And as for not finding good fics.... seriously? I haven't read any fanfics in a good long while so I can't say much. Well... that comment pretty much made my day. Thank you!

- & -

Until next time (and hope it's sooner)...

DL

PS: Concrit please?


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